


The Carnival Princess

by Laylah



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Amoral Characters, Carnival AU, Creepy, F/M, Homestuck Shipping Olympics, Vore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-15
Updated: 2012-06-15
Packaged: 2017-11-07 18:54:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,542
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/434283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laylah/pseuds/Laylah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The painted banners outside depict Feferi at her wildest, baring needle-sharp teeth at the viewer. When you look at them you always imagine you can see a spark of amusement in her eyes, that people would believe her so fierce.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Carnival Princess

This is your last night here; before dawn you will have packed up everything into the caravan and started off again, most of you slumbering in the wagons while Maryam and the carapacians shepherd the day-shift travels. You will be glad to be rid of this town. It's a primarily human settlement, which means that most of you are forced to subdue your performances (Makara in particular chafes at the restraint, and if you enjoy the way he takes it out on you, still you know it bodes not well for the troupe). Humans are frailer and more easily frightened by your monstrosity than other trolls.

You tear away the last of the chains you broke free of in your act, as Serket leads the audience on to the next marvel. "The fairy boy who can charm the fiercest of beasts," she's saying. "Fearless in the face of a starving pridebeast! Willing to bare his throat to its fangs, willing to suffer the embrace of the most poisonous snakes! Come see him face death! Will he escape unharmed, or will this be the night that his luck runs out?"

You've seen Nitram's act, and while you suppose you can appreciate the courage it displays, you don't care for it. You also can't take it seriously in a place like this: in human towns, the part of the starving pridebeast is played by Nepeta's lusus.

Instead you head for the shrouded tent of the _Seadweller Princess! Real! Alive!_ The painted banners outside depict Feferi at her wildest, baring needle-sharp teeth at the viewer. When you look at them you always imagine you can see a spark of amusement in her eyes, that people would believe her so fierce. Your bloodpusher flutters at her loveliness.

When you enter the tent you can hear her humming to herself, some popular melody that Pyrope has been playing on the gramophone in the mornings after shows. You navigate the overlapping baffles of curtains carefully, so you don't tear any of them by mistake, and because you are being so slow and careful you hear the whispered voices ahead of you.

"...had one before either, have you?" one voice says. You still.

"No, it's just, those damn teeth," the other complains. "What if she bites?"

You grit your teeth. You have a feeling you know what brings them here.

The first voice snickers. "Come on. We'll handle it. It'll go fine."

People are always surprised that you can move quietly, but you had Nepeta to teach you, and she is a hunter without peer. You follow the voices—two human males, young adults, slipping out from behind the curtains and edging toward Feferi's saltwater tank. The gaslamp above shines dim, warm light on the water, illuminating her where she sits at the edge of the tank admiring herself in a hand mirror. The rest of the tent is dark, too dark for humans' limited night vision.

"Pretty little freak," one of the humans murmurs. The other one laughs nervously.

You reach out for the nearer one and snap his neck.

Feferi sits bolt upright, dropping her mirror into the tank with a splash. "Equius, I can't bereef you!" she says, glaring past the surviving human and straight at you.

"I beg your forgiveness, your majesty," you say. The remaining human yelps and tries to flee, but you catch him—as gently as you can; you don't think you've broken anything, though he whimpers—and hold him fast.

Feferi's fins are quivering, her cheeks flushing fuschia. "I cod have taken care of myself," she says.

"Please, forgive me," you say. Then you dare, "Forgive my shellfishness."

She bites her lip, scrunching up her nose as if she's trying desperately not to smile. You melt, just a little. "Well," she says. "I guess you were just trying to kelp."

"Absolutely, your majesty," you say. The human squirms in your grip, taking a breath as if to cry out, and you lean down to breathe in his ear. "If you scream, I will break all the bones in your limbs," you tell him quietly. He droops.

Feferi retrieves her double-ended trident from the water, a flashy golden weapon that the marks often think is a simple costume prop. You know better. "Bring us the prisoner!" she demands, pointing the trident at you. You tremble with adoration. Even here, exiled and debased to the level of carnival attraction, her nobility _shines_.

"Hey, come on," the human says. "I didn't do nothing, we were just—"

"Silence," you tell him, as you pull him into the radius of the gaslamp. "You will answer her majesty's questions and no more."

"That's right!" Feferi says. "Nofin to fear if you cooperate."

You're certain she is lying to comfort the condemned. She is kind and gracious to the innocent, but she is not naive enough to believe this human among that number. If you could hear their whispers, so could she.

She crosses her arms on the edge of the tank and leans forward, trident dangling loosely from one hand. The human looks not at her horns, as would be properly wary, but at her chest. "So," she says, "for what porpoise did you come sea me tonight?"

The human tries to squirm. You do not permit it. "We just wanted to see you again," he says, and you grit your teeth to hold yourself back from another act of violence. "Not often a girl as pretty as you comes through this town."

Feferi lets her hair spill over her shoulders, toying with it. "Did you hear that?" she says. "I'm a pretty gill."

Sometimes you suspect she says things solely—ha—as an excuse for puns. "You are indeed, your majesty," you agree.

Her eyes sparkle. "Let the prisoner apperch the throne!" she says. "We shell reward him for the flattery."

The human hesitates; there are limits to his stupidity after all. You nudge him and he stumbles forward.

Feferi reaches for him. "Kiss me," she says.

When the human steps into her reach, she leans forward and slides her free arm around him—then arches back, pulling him off his feet and into the water with her. The noise he tries to make is barely audible over the splash, and then he's under the water and any other protest he could make is drowned. In the dim light you can scarcely see what's happening in the water, but you don't need to see the details to know.

Bubbles burst on the surface for a moment, and then there is a bloom of bright red human blood, that unnerving animal shade that you can never quite believe came from a _person_. The water in her tank will need to be changed before you reach the next town.

You glance back at the other body. You should bring it with you; as a troupe, you are excellent at disposing of them. Feferi eats the soft insides, and sometimes she'll keep a skull to add to the little pile in the bottom of her tank: properly weathered and lacquered, they, too, look like props. Nepeta splits the long bones for the marrow, and Makara grinds the remainder for his paint. It's more good, you think, than some of these humans ever did by being alive.

It takes long minutes before Feferi surfaces; you have remained to stand guard. She shakes her head, pushes her hair back from her face, and smiles. "Now you," she says.

You swallow hard. "As you wish," you say, and step up to the edge of the tank. The edge of it is chest-high for you, so when she leans her elbows on it you appear to be of a height.

She kisses you, and you taste the too-sharp copper of human blood and flesh in her mouth, but you do not protest—nor when she nips your bottom lip and spills your blood into the kiss. She suckles at the tiny cut and you could die happy at her soft sound of pleasure.

"I know I _should_ just eat the wicked," she says, her cool thin arms draped over your shoulders, "but you taste so much betta."

"You could, you know," you admit quietly. She does know. You're certain. "I would not fight you."

She swats your broken horn, almost gentle enough to be conciliatory, and blows an exasperated sigh through her gills. "Don't be sealy," she says. "If I did that you'd be gone. I'd miss you and Nepeta would be all abalone."

You bow your head, chastened. You _would_ feel horrible about leaving Nepeta. "That would be an unfortunate outcome."

Feferi runs her claws delicately across your cheek, down your throat. Her eyes are so bright. "Maybe just a nibble," she says.

You sweep your hair back from your shoulder, baring your flesh to offer. Your bloodpusher pounds with anticipation.

Her bite is quick and precise, a single tiny mouthful of flesh, not even deep enough to do more than graze the muscle. You swallow the sound of pain and think of the fact that you please her, the fact that she has marked you as her own.

Your blood on her lips is the most beautiful thing in the world.


End file.
